Parallel Reality
by Pathetic Fallacy
Summary: They will insist on getting into their swimming costumes whenever you order them to drown themselves in the pool. House and Wilson play games during work. Things happen. Mild slash, rated for language and innuendo and vague discussion of things.


_Yes, so, I myself, with the onset of the holidays, have been spending waaaay too much time on a particular computer game, and also spending waaaay too much time reading House fanfics. So, I thought at two a.m. one day, why not combine these two? _

_The following story is proof of the fact that I should not listen to my mind at two a.m. The ending was a bit ambiguous. You can take it as you wish to, I don't care.._

_Oh, yeah, um, I don't own The Sims (although I've spent so much time on it I'm practically an expert) nor do I own House. I actually don't own anything. Can I put that in writing somewhere and stop with the disclaimers? Gawd._

_Anyway. Story. You can archive it wherever, I don't mind. All errors about or inthe game, the series, spelling, grammar, continuity, and other things of that nature are hereby to be considered jokes because I didn't actually read this over againn. Thankyou. _

* * *

"What're you doing so furtively?"

House glanced up from his computer screen to see Wilson lurking at the door, craning his neck to see the screen. Quietly, he noted the use of the word 'furtive' for his own use in further snarky comments, before glancing back at the computer. With some determination, he adjusted the monitor to make it impossible to see from the hallway, earning an annoyed noise from Wilson and luring the oncologist further into the office. House made a show of glancing at the hallway to check Cuddy was nowhere nearby before he spoke.

"Playing games," he whispered.

"Oh, well, yes, _that's _new," Wilson said, exasperated. House tapped the side of his nose.

"Not just any games, my dear Wilson –" Wilson raised an eyebrow " – but... _computer _games. That came on a _disk _and can have maniacal things done with... it"

"I'm impressed." House ignored the sarcasm.

"Ever heard of the Sims?"

"One of my nieces plays it obsessively. Oh, my God, you did _not _make everyone here."

"... Lucky guess."

"Real secret, House," Wilson muttered, pulling up a chair and eyeing the screen. "The first thing anyone ever does with these games is try to make their friends."

"I made me first," House admitted, "but it's more fun to torture other people."

On the screen, a frazzled looking character was electrocuted in the act of trying to repair a lamp. On closer inspection, it was Vogler.

"Vogler was so not that skinny."

"That's as fat as I could make him."

"Why is he not wearing pants?"

"Because," House said with some annoyance, "they will insist on getting into their swimming costumes whenever you order them to drown themselves in the pool."

"They follow these orders? _Your _orders?"

"Well, you tell them to go for a swim, then cunningly take away all the ladders. They fall asleep and this really cool little Grim Reaper dude appears."

"Stage one: make your friends and family. Stage two: find ways of killing them. So why is Vogler not dead?"

"Vogler's a wuss. I keep telling him to swim and he keeps chickening out. Look."

The simulation walked to the edge of a diving board, peered over it, then retreated to dry land.

"Yeah, I would too with you behind the wheel. Where are you?"

"I," House said with some pride, "am at work, working like a diligent working... worker."

"I thought you were trying to keep it realistic."

"Oh hah, hah. Look, here I am now." A character was clambering out of a car. It appeared to be wearing a body bag.

"Stylish."

"I can't change the work uniform," House snapped.

"Oh, so he wears a uniform? More inconsistencies."

"I keep trying to send him off in his Everyday, which you'll note is at the peak of fashion much like my own clothing choice –" Wilson snorted – "but he does this insanely magical little... twirly thing and changes into _that_."

"They seem to have tried to render a mixture between scrubs and... one of those romper suits babies wear. Hey," Wilson pointed out suddenly, "it says he's a Nurse."

"He is. Little bastard won't make friends."

"So?"

"Some moronic programming in the game says you need like... four friends to get a promotion, or something."

"And your little guy has ...one?"

"Two," House objected. "Kevin as well."

"Does he work in book-keeping?"

"Actually, he lives on the outskirts of town and his house consists of a wall with a phone on it. Can't be bothered playing with him. But he exists and can be telephoned."

"As does a mini-me?"

"Somewhere here – oh, look, there. Hitting on Cuddy. Typical," House informed him.

"Hey! That's not me!"

"Got your name," House pointed out. "Looks like you."

"Brown hair and brown eyes do not the Wilson make."

"Sure they do. And look, I made you really disgustingly nice."

He gestured at the panel where, sure enough, the 'nice' meter had ten glowing lines next to it. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"I suppose mini-House has no lines there."

"Mini-House sort of has no lines anywhere. Oh, he's active, I think."

"That's a whole personality point thing?"

'Yup. So is Neat."

"Pfft."

"My thoughts exactly."

"So what are those things?"

"Skill points."

"As opposed to personality points?"

"They're separate, ahah, points."

"I see."

"You have no skill points at all," House informed him grandly. "You're too slack to study. Keep wandering off for naps."

"I have zero active points," Wilson objected. "Unfair. I do stuff."

"Well, I used all the points on 'nice' and 'outgoing', which was incidentally the closest thing I could get to 'skirt-chasing'."

"And why does your guy have a hundred thousand of everything?"

"Because," House said loftily, "he studies things, unlike _you, _you slack bugger. Look. He can make turkey. Look at him cooking – oh, my God, he set the stove on fire."

Wilson laughed. House glared at him as a miniature fireman sprinted into the building. Quickly, all the Sims gathered to watch the spectacle.

"You made Cameron," Wilson said slyly. "She's wearing a bikini."

"She was swimming with Vogler," House informed him. "She had to be saved from drowning. She fell asleep in the flowerbed."

"Oh, sure. Bet you wish she'd wander around _here_ half-naked."

"Bit more than half-naked, wouldn't you agree? She almost needs those blurry things they have when they get in the shower."

Wilson, who had been planning on asking House to put someone in the shower so he could see, looked thwarted. He leaned forward, eyeing the Relationships panel House had pulled up.

"Hey. She's in love with you."

"No duh."

"Are you in love with her?"

"We've been through this. Exhaustively."

"No, sim-You. You with hair, and muscles, and looking rather more dashing than reality should allow, House."

"Shut up. No, he isn't." There was a hint of pride in House's voice. "Took me ages to set that up."

"But why would you bother? Isn't the point of computer games to _escape _reality, not re-create it?"

"Well, she's in love with Cuddy. That's not exactly realistic, though it is very fun to play with. Sims seem so much more open to ideas than us."

House lapsed into silence, eyeing the computer screen and toggling the view screen, before clicking a few buttons. Sim-Cameron sidled up behind sim-House and attempted to stroke his face. He hit her hands away and turned his back on her. Red minus signs appeared. House grinned maniacally.

"Why did you do that?" Wilson asked, sounding vaguely amused and vaguely exasperated. House looked innocent.

"To see what would happen. Poor dear," he added, tutting. "Unrequited love can be so depressing. On the other hand, it's funny to watch."

"What about sim-me?" Wilson queried to change the subject.

"Nope, not in love with you either, sorry. I was, though."

Cameron paused in the doorway, looked on the verge of saying something, then turned around and walked away. House raised an eyebrow as Wilson stared after her, vaguely confused.

"This is good. Animated people keep the real ones away," House mused.

"I'm still here."

"You don't count."

"I _meant_ do I like you... _at all_... which incidentally sim-Me wouldn't, because with a bit of luck he's at least a little bit sane. Where is he?"

"I dunno. He was hitting on Cuddy. And yes, he likes me."

"Where is Cuddy? Oh, god – _how _long did you make her nose?"

"There was a creation thing. You could change anything. Physics meant nothing. I got carried away."

"Good thing too, because she would have fallen over by now. I suppose I should be glad mini-me doesn't have bedsheet-sized ears."

"Yes, you should, because he looked rather fetching Dumbo-style."

"I'm not even going to wonder if that was a compliment or an insult. Oh, look, Cameron fell asleep on the floor."

"Slack. Just because I didn't let her sleep for, what, two days."

"Does she have a job?"

"She's never awake enough to look for one."

"Do I have a job? Oh, my God. I'm a _chef_?"

"I got bored with the medical... track thing and decided to try Culinary."

"I have no cooking points!"

"That's why you're stuck in the drive through lane."

"Make me study! I don't want to be a drive-through guy all my life!"

House obeyed. The character on the screen glared at his creator, shaking his head and stamping his foot. House whistled.

"I told you so. I'm the only one who does any study around here. There."

"Make you make friends. Then you can be a proper doctor."

"Nurses are proper doctors. And mini-House won't make friends. They always run away."

"I didn't."

"You're weird."

"So's the simulated me," Wilson muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Hey, look, a burglar. Call the police! Get up!"

"How did he get the television into that little sack?" Wilson wondered. House clicked the mouse with more ferocity than was really necessary.

"For heaven's sake – that's it, I am so buying a burglar alarm later."

"He got a pinball machine in there too."

"I hope he puts his back out," House muttered as the burglar made his escape, complete with sack. "Oh, don't be such a baby," he added disgustedly to the simulation of Chase, hitherto unseen, now standing where the television had been and crying. With a few swift clicks, House replaced it. Chase-Sim continued to cry. "My God."

"Hey, why do you have eight hundred thousand dollars? Last time I checked, nurses didn't earn that much."

"Nurses also don't have the 'cheat' box."

"I knew you'd be cheating."

"Look who's talking."

"Hah, hah."

"I had to do something to let him study all his skills."

"I wouldn't mind getting eight hundred thousand dollars and learning how to cook and clean and fix stuff and – _charisma?_" Wilson snorted. "You've got maximum _charisma?"_

"Of course I do. You need it to be a sport superstar."

"A what?"

"He was a pro footballing guy before he quit and became a doctor."

"Nurse."

"Whatever."

"Hey, they have memories? My niece's one didn't have memories."

"This is the Sims version _two._"

"Ah. Very technological."

"Now they have – old age, as well. They get twenty eight days of being adults." A glint came into his eyes. "And they're allowed to have sex in hot tubs."

"Well, obviously that's very good for the children playing."

"They have to learn about it sometime," House said flippantly. "Why not in a position where they control it?"

"Does it encourage safe-sex as well?"

"No," House admitted, "I think that was a bit too graphic."

"More graphic than – doing it in hot tubs?"

"Or beds," House said brightly.

"I can see you've given this some thought. Back to the memory stuff. What do they remember?"

"Having sex."

"Apart from that."

"First kisses, learning to walk, getting promotions, family members getting good grades – some cool stuff, mostly boring stuff."

Wilson hijacked the mouse, awkwardly manipulating the screen and swearing.

"This is ridiculous."

"You get used to it."

"Make him read a book. Go over there, mini-me. Go on. Get that book. Not the bloody - why's he doing _that?_"

"Here," House said exasperatedly, removing the mouse forcibly from Wilson's grip and sending the character towards the bookshelf.

"Let _me _do it."

"You _can't_ do it!"

"I'll learn! Look, he's reading a book. You keep reading that book. Relax."

House snorted. Wilson gave him a dark look.

"You've been mean to me, haven't you?" he asked defensively, giving the character a protective look.

"No. He's been living the life of Riley, working in some cushy job in the drive through while _I _slave and toil at some sim-hospital somewhere."

"His memories say he was saved from Death."

"He sort of starved."

"Starved!"

"Just a bit."

"How can he starve _just a bit_?"

"I rushed to the rescue and saved him by bargaining with the Grim Reaper."

"Playing chess?"

"No. Scissors-paper-rock, I think. Or - just asking. Dunno, I sped that bit up. It got boring."

"And it says here he went unconscious at some point."

"Not my fault if he's too thick to go to bed."

"And it says here he was abducted by aliens – "

"Come on, I had no control over that."

"Why'd you do all this?"

"To see what would happen."

"And it says here that he – what!"

"I got bored."

"So you made – me – fall in love with - _you_?"

Foreman, who had been standing in the doorway holding an armful of files, turned and left, shaking his head. He went unnoticed.

'"I so did not make him _fall in love _with him. I sort of – made him hit on him, which incidentally is totally in character."

"Great. So my simulated self is gay."

"Not gay," House corrected. "He's snogging Cuddy now. Look."

"Why on earth did you make him hit on – you? Him? The pronouns are confusing me."

"As I said - I wanted to see what would happen. Geez. It's no big deal."

"You get bored too easily."

"I blame the hospital for that. Give me the mouse back, sim-me is going swimming in the death pool."

Wilson, looking unsettled, surrendered the controls to House.

"Where's Julie in all of this?"

"She died."

Wilson grinned, somewhat reluctantly. "Death pool?"

"Death pool. She hated me before she died, though."

"Why?"

"She caught you hitting on me."

It was at this point that Chase, who'd just opened the office door, shut it and headed determinedly off in the direction of the cafeteria. House watched him.

"Hmm. I think we're inadvertently leading to the creation of rumours."

"Oh?" Wilson said absently, taking advantage of House's lapse in concentration to hijack the computer controls again.

"Well, in isolation, what I just said sounds a bit on the suss side."

"I guess so. But it's Chase. No-one listens to Chase."

"Cameron and Foreman have also both heard us say something which sounds totally normal in context of the game – "

" – as much as grown men playing computer games during their lunchbreak is totally normal –"

" – and if they get their heads together, which they do depressingly often, well, we'll get one of those Three Musketeers confrontation questioning things, which I by the way hate."

"Maybe we should be scared or something."

Wilson looked troubled for a minute, before his expression altered. "_Why_ did you just delete his bed? He's _in _it. Not anymore," Wilson added. "He looks mad."

"I wanted to see what would happen. He might have like... fallen down. It would've been cool."

"... Well, he's standing up now. He looks angry."

"Oh, what's he going to do about it."

"He seems to have kicked over your lawn ornaments."

"Bastard. Oh, look, they're conferring."

"Who?"

"The ducklings."

"Chase is in bed, and Cameron appears to be in the hot tub."

"Real life ducklings, Wilson."

"Oh." Wilson shook his head blearily, glancing into the hallway where the ducklings were gathered, grouped together and attempting to look as if they were discussing medicine. Chase spotted Wilson watching them, jumped, and waved a file a bit. Cameron said something vehement to him.

"Whoo," House muttered. "This is going to be a depressingly dogged rumour, I can just sense it."

"Well, we _were_ sort of discussing our past and presentlove affair."

"The love affair of our _simulated _selves, Wilson. And if they don't know that things were in a different context it's their problem." House looked vaguely uneasy nonetheless. Wilson glanced out at the ducklings, somewhat irritated.

"You're not fooling anyone," he shouted at them. Chase started so badly he dropped half of the files he was holding.

"That won't work on them," House said testily. "Shouting never does. You just have to ignore them and they lose interest. Oh, great, now I've missed work," House muttered testily. "Why can't you do these things yourself? Huh? I'm not your _mother! _Wilson, you're in the death pool," House informed him. "Your sim-self is thicker than your real one."

"Cuddy's joined the huddle."

"Crap. She'll see what's happening. I think she saw the disk in my bag this morning," House hissed, diving sideways away from the computer."Quick. Look like we're discussing medicine."

"Well, I actually came in here in the _first _place to discuss –"

"Good. Go." House seized a file, and waved it at the windows, looking cross. An idea occurred to Wilson.

"I know how to get them to leave us alone."

"Do it. I don't care whether it involves throwing stuff out of the windows – do you have any idea how much Cuddy will kill me if she sees us playing games? Save, damn you!" he hissed at the computer, swinging around with a file in hand and affixing what he must have thought was an expression of hard-working interest in a particular case. Wilson looked at him for a moment, before, moving faster than House had thought was possible, he lunged forward and kissed him soundly on the lips.

Several slightly confusing seconds later, House edged backwards, glancing at the corridor to avoid looking at Wilson for as long as possible. Sure enough, the ducklings had fled, along with Cuddy and pretty much everyone in the corridor. He pondered whether it would be possible to pretend that that had never happened, and decided it would be difficult, considering the circumstances. House risked a glance back at Wilson, who hadn't fled the room as House had hoped.

"The _hell _did you do that for?"

Wilson grinned at him. House's startled expression began slowly to change to annoyance, a useful shield for those who have to do a lot of very serious rethinking on the subject of a relationship and other people in general. Quietly, treacherously, and in a move that showed once and for all he really needed to stop playing the Sims, oh, forever, his mind's eye put a lot of little hearts over Wilson's head. He attempted to clench a fist around the chair arm to show his treacherous mind who was boss, before realizing it wouldn't clench any further.

"Wilson?" he demanded. "Has the game distorted your _brain _in any way, shape, or form?"

"Don't think so," Wilson said brightly. House glared at him.

"Then _why _the _hell _did you – just -_?"  
__  
_"I wanted to see what would happen."

Bloody Wilson and his bloody need to use his own bloody words against him. House very determinedly turned his attentions to the computer.

He never played the Sims again. It only lead to trouble.


End file.
